


Unsterblich

by cincoflex



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-05 12:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13387995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: Colonel Klink hires a new secretary with a dangerous secret--who can she trust at Stalag 13?





	1. Chapter 1

_Prolog_

They—the Unsterblich-- weren’t a huge percentage of the population by any means; no more so than albinos or the deaf or any other subgroup of humanity. Nevertheless, given the Nazi interest in the occult it was inevitable that those who fell into the supernatural category were rounded up as well. They weren’t the only ones of course but their fates were just as brutally pointless as their fellow victims. The Führer wanted the secrets of immortality and had no qualms about how many beings he tore apart in an effort to discover it.

Many fled to safer havens, and built new lives in other countries but for those who stayed behind it meant existing in the margins of society, and staying in the shadows. If during a full moon a sheep or two disappeared, or if a person woke up with pinprick holes on a wrist it was understood that somewhere nearby an occult one was in hiding; someone with a paranormal nature and a desperate hope to endure. Their existence was never denied, but their survival was always in a precarious balance.

***

**Hogan**

The news that Hilda had gotten married didn’t come as a complete surprise but it still sent a bittersweet pang through both Klink and Hogan. Klink because she’d been a competent secretary and a pleasure to look at; Hogan because interludes with Hilda had been one of the few perks of his daily existence. He’d enjoyed flirting with her and she’d been fun to smooch.

Still it meant a change and those were tricky things. For all anyone knew the next secretary could be a spy for the Gestapo, or a fanatical Party member, either of whom could make future missions a lot more difficult.

“She also might be some dotty old Bavarian who knits antimacassars in her spare time,” Newkirk offered up mildly as he lounged on the upper bunk. “A granny type.”

LeBeau rolled his eyes. “You shut your mouth! Don’t you know grandmothers have the keenest eyes? We’d be spied on from morning until night!”

“Brush your teeth! Wear a sweater! Do you have clean underwear on young man!” Carter cackled, grinning. He added, “boy I miss _my_ grandmother, actually.”

“We’re already in a prison camp,” LeBeau pointed out dryly. “We don’t need any further punishment.”

“Just hold your horses,” Hogan broke in. “Granny or Gestapo, we need to know who’s replacing Hilda as soon as possible so we can figure out how to work around them if we have to. Any input from London?”

Kinchloe gave a shrug. “I asked but clerical staffings are filled by civilians, Colonel. Probably someone local from Hammelburg. We ought to check there.”

Hogan nodded. “Get on it then. In the meantime I’ll see what Klink knows.”

It wasn’t as much fun strolling in without anyone at the front desk, and Hogan suppressed an inner sigh. The doctor that Hilda was marrying had checked out as supportive of the Resistance, so there wasn’t much risk to security there. With a mental shrug he wistfully he wished her well and gave a quick knock on Klink’s door before poking his head in. “Colonel?”

Klink looked up, his expression annoyed even if his heart wasn’t in it. “Hogan?”

“Hey isn’t there supposed to be a secretary out here? Blonde, blue-eyed, built like a . . .”

“Hogan!”

“ . . . Bavarian beer hall,” he finished innocently. “You know sir—fortified and all?”

“Fraülein Schneider has left us to get married,” Klink admitted with a sigh. “Which I wouldn’t mind nearly as much if it didn’t mean a pile-up of paperwork.”

“Well I could always help you with that,” Hogan offered.

“Thanks but no thanks,” Klink grumbled back. “Is there something you want, colonel?”

Hogan smirked. “Oh I want what every man wants; house with a yard, a white picket fence, maybe a dog . . .”

“I meant at this particular moment,” Klink managed through gritted teeth. “I’m rather busy.”

“Just checking to see when the next package shipment is due in,” came the cheery reply. “Carter’s looking forward to more cookies from home. We’re using them as coasters.”

Klink gave a very put-upon look. “Sounds delightful but as to your question I have no idea. At some point in the future I suppose.”

“Well _that_ certainly narrows it down,” Hogan shrugged. “So you’ll be getting a new secretary?”

“Yes, I’m expecting her this morning,” Klink muttered, flipping through a stack of papers and re-arranging every third one.

“You’ve met her?” Hogan plucked a paper from the floor and handed it to Klink, who smothered a little yelp and shoved it deep into the files on his desk.

“Hogan! No, I haven’t met her but the woman comes highly recommended. Now please get out of here and find someone _else_ to bother today!”

“Sheesh, somebody’s grouchy--” Before he could finish, a knock at the door made both men look up from their exchange and then at each other.

Klink rose and moved around his desk, shooting Hogan a glare. “Out,” he repeated, his focus on the woman now standing uncertainly in the front office. Hogan stayed quiet, determined to see how this would play out.

“Frau Kovac,” Klink murmured, extending a hand. “I’m glad you arrived safely.”

She took it, her gloved palm pressing his. “Oberst Klink?”

Hogan studied her quickly, taking in her delicate frame, her glossy black hair in a neat coronet braid, her dark brown eyes. She wore a long Loden coat that even he could see was a decade out of date, and despite her dark stockings and sensible shoes, Hogan realized this woman was pretty. Not in the bold blonde way Helga and Hilda had been, but in a much more serene fashion. With Frau Kovac it was easy to picture her as a librarian somewhere, or teaching a class of little ones.

Klink was still holding her hand and from the look on his face it wasn’t hard to figure out he was already taken with the woman. Not that Hogan could blame him; women were in short supply in the camp, particularly appealing ones.

***

**Lorelei**

_Junker_ , she thought a little dizzily as warmth radiated through her palm. _Three generations back at least._ She hadn’t met anyone from Prussia in over two decades, not since Von Hecht all those years ago in Switzerland. Lorelei pushed back the memory and gave the man holding her hand a smile.  
“A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“And you as well,” he murmured, and she watched his thin face flush a little. The sight made her look down so she wouldn’t give herself away. _Not now_ , Lorelei chided herself. _Blend in, don’t draw attention._ Carefully she extracted her hand and fiddled with pulling off one of her gloves.

“I hope you will find my work satisfactory. Do you have a moment to show me my duties?”

“Oh of course, of course!” came the quick reply. As she looked up again, Lorelei realized there was someone else standing there. The man smiled, but his stare was one of assessment as he leaned one shoulder against the door frame. Apparently Colonel Klink noticed him as well and gave a sigh.

“Frau Kovac, this is Colonel Hogan, senior officer among the prisoners here at Stalag 13. Hopefully you’ll have as _little_ to do with him as possible.” This was said in a warning tone.

Given the twinkle in Hogan’s eye Lorelei doubted it would work. The man held out a hand, and she watched him turn into a far more charming person as he did so.

“Pleased to meet you, Frau Kovac. Is there a Herr Kovac back home?”

Lorelei forced herself to give a sad little smile. “I’m a widow, Colonel Hogan.”

She liked how he seemed taken aback, and how defensive Klink looked. “Hogan—”

“My condolences,” Hogan murmured quietly and she got the feeling he meant it. “Well I’m sure the colonel here has a lot to show you so I’ll just see myself out.”

As he left, she saw the tension in Klink’s shoulders soften a bit. “I’m so sorry; the man has no tact whatsoever.”

“It’s all right. He had no way of knowing and it’s been several years,” Lorelei assured him with a nod. “So where should we begin, sir?”

Klink walked her through the two small rooms, talking her through what he expected her to do, and offering up suggestions of where to start. She pulled out a steno pad and took notes; by the time they stepped into Klink’s office she had nearly two pages. The sight of the pile of papers on his desk though, made her laugh.

“A bit of a backlog?” she asked. Klink looked as if he wanted to deny it and then simply sighed, looking sheepish.

“Fraülein Schneider _may_ have been a little . . . pre-occupied with her upcoming wedding,” he confessed.

“I understand,” Lorelei murmured, scooping up the stack, “but I think I can put a dent in this right now. Shall I get started?”

For the next three hours Lorelei methodically sorted, filed, and organized the paperwork, keeping an ear out to learn the sounds of the camp as she did so. The whistle of the wind through the barbed wire made a low moan, and the occasional bark of a dog were mingled with male voices, boot steps and the rumble of truck engines. Nothing was particularly frightening, but she kept alert, aware of other sounds as well. Digging for one and electronics for another.

She fought her fatigue, aware that the shift to the daytime would be taxing after decades of working after dark, but times were uncertain now, and jobs harder to come by. It had been a pity that Hintzmann’s Fine Furniture had closed so early on during the war. Still, it had been a lucky break that the baker’s daughter had mentioned the camp posting for a secretary. Lorelei still had a bike and the camp was within an easy ride, so it seemed as if it might work out.

By the end of the day, the desk was clear of paper, the filing cabinets were much fuller, and Lorelei was aware of several men loitering outside the barrack directly across from the office. None of them were Colonel Hogan, and it amused her how nonchalant they were trying to appear. After she bid goodnight to a pleased Klink she put on her coat and headed out, making her way close enough to the barrack to look at the inmates.

“Bon soir, madame!” came the cheerful call of the slight man with a beret.

“Bon soirée à vous aussi,” she replied, smugly noting the man’s surprise. Impishly Lorelei added, “J’aime ton beret.”

He gave a little laugh and a bow. “Je vous remercie; vous êtes une femme au sens de la mode!”

Lorelei smiled back and headed to the guard shack to collect her bicycle. Under the careful scrutiny of both the guards and the prisoners, she slipped through the barely opened gate and climbed on, riding off into the twilight along the road outside the Stalag.

*** 

**Klink**

He was astounded at how quickly Frau Kovac had gotten through the accumulated paperwork, and a little chagrined about it as well. Yes both Helga and Hilda had been good workers, but not particularly efficient ones. He’d been indulgent with them, Klink knew—a holdover of paternal courtesy he supposed. At the moment he was grateful that his desk was clear and he could focus on smaller tasks, like writing a birthday letter to his mother. Not that it was going well—much as he loved his mother he was never sure what would please her. Nothing he’d ever done seemed good enough but he tried. At least the delivery from the florist would arrive on time this year thanks to Frau Kovac.

She lingered in his thoughts, and he indulged himself, pleased again to have someone so organized in the front office. Klink had been around bureaucracy long enough to appreciate the skills of a good secretary like Frau Kovac. And she wasn’t hard to look at either, he admitted to himself. She reminded him of a ballerina with her sleek brunette graces, and seemed more than ready to anticipate his schedule. Helga and Hilda had been fine in their own ways, but they’d both had a tiny hint of . . . insouciance that had been intimidating. And both of them had flirted with Hogan, Klink admitted to himself with resignation.

He doubted Hogan would try it with Frau Kovac, however. Her status as a widow would probably keep the American at arm’s length, as would her quiet courtesy, which would be a relief. Klink knew Hogan had natural charm—something he himself was deficient in if the truth was known—but Frau Kovac looked to be less flirtatious than her predecessors. Klink glanced down at his letter and wrote a sentence about the weather, and another one asking his mother about her sciatica before drifting off again, staring at the dusk outside the window.

A knock and the creak of the outer door alerted him; he looked up as Hogan wandered in. “Hey! Your desk looks a lot neater now.”

“Yes,” Klink agreed. “I’m very impressed with Frau Kovac’s work so far.”

“Showed her the ropes? All the ins and outs?” Hogan asked, idly picking up Klink’s letter. Klink tugged it out of the other man’s hand.

“She’s already well qualified for the work,” came his reply.

“Luftwaffe Secretarial School?”

Klink gave a sigh. “She worked for Heinrich Hintzmann’s in Hammelburg for several years.”

“I bet you can’t say _that_ three times fast,” Hogan smirked. “Hintzmann’s?”

“A well--respected furniture broker, not that it’s any of your business,” Klink pointed out. “Look, I realize she’s new but I won’t have you pestering her, you hear me?”

“Can I pester her when she’s _old_?” Hogan countered, and held up his hands placatingly. “Look I understand, but she’s going to be right there in the front office and I can’t very well ignore her. That would be rude.”

“Then be polite, but no more,” Klink muttered. “Your men as well.”

“Got it. She seems young for a widow, though,” Hogan mused. “Unless her husband was say, in your military.”

“In that case she would have a pension and not need the job,” Klink pointed out. “Just . . . let her do her work, Hogan.”

“All right,” came the agreement. “After all, I’m sure we can both think of worse candidates, especially if Major Hochstetter suggested any.”

Klink gave a shudder and nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hogan**

A few weeks went by. Still, something bothered him about the new secretary but he wasn’t sure what, precisely. Hogan hadn’t survived by ignoring his instincts and one of them was giving him a persistent tingle whenever he passed through Klink’s office. He didn’t feel threatened per se; just on alert when she was around.  
“It’s weird,” he admitted to Kinchloe as they sat waiting for their latest mission briefing, “just some little sense that something’s not on the level.”

“You think she’s a spy?” came the practical question.

Reluctantly Hogan shook his head. “No. She doesn’t spout any party lines or get goose bumps at goose steps. I just can’t pinpoint what it _is_ that bugs me.”

“She’s delightful,” LeBeau announced, refilling the coffee.

“You’re only saying that because she speaks French,” Newkirk pointed out dryly.

“I’m saying that because she speaks it with a _perfect_ Swiss accent,” came the reply.

“Swiss? You’re sure of that?” Hogan asked, shooting LeBeau a sharp look.

The Frenchman nodded. “I’d bet my life on it. It’s close to Parisian but not quite, mon colonel. I’d say she either grew up there or was taught by someone Swiss.”

“But isn’t Kovac like, Hungarian?” Carter wanted to know.

“Yeah but it’s her married name,” Newkirk pointed out. “No telling what her maiden one was, mate.”

“Or maybe there is,” Hogan mused. “It’s got to be in the paperwork, and since she’s a recent hire it should be easy to find.”

“So we’re going to go through Klink’s office files all because you want to know Frau Kovac’s maiden name?” Kinchloe asked, grinning.

Hogan chuckled. “Why not? It will give us something to do while we wait, and I’m nearly out of cigars.”

“Sounds right up my alley,” Newkirk agreed. “When do we start?”

“As soon as I find a good reason to get them both out of the office,” Hogan replied. “I wonder if Frau Kovac has ever judged an art show?”

***

“But we _need_ her, sir!” Hogan told Klink earnestly. “She’s the only impartial person here in the camp!”

“Are you saying I’m not qualified, even if I _wanted_ to look at your ridiculous paintings?” Klink countered in exasperation. “Look, you asked to have an art show and I was willing to put up with it, Hogan, but to insult me in return and then demand that Frau Kovac waste an entire afternoon judging amateur paintings is too much!”

“Of _course_ you’re qualified,” Hogan told him soothingly. “It’s just that, well, the men thought getting a woman’s perspective on their masterpieces might be helpful for any future art. Of course she’d probably need someone to consult with, someone with an eye for the finer points, someone who knows his way around a canvas . . .”

“A mentor,” Klink murmured. He shot Hogan a sharp look. “This isn’t some idiotic scheme on your part is it? Because I assure you my critique would be _thorough_.”

“Of course. You and Frau Kovac have a wealth of culture between you. Having the pair of you show up would make the judging something the men would look forward to,” Hogan assured him, feeling amused. It was clear that Klink’s objection was crumbling at the idea of an afternoon escorting Frau Kovac around, and there certainly were enough pictures to look at; somehow the competitive spirit had bitten hard among his men.

Kink appeared to hesitate and finally snapped, “Twenty minutes, and not a second more! After all it’s not as if your men are going to reproduce the Mona Lisa.”

“Oh you’d be surprised what Carter can do with enough burnt umber and cardboard,” Hogan assured him. “Trust me.”

Klink pursed his mouth. “I can hardly bear the suspense,” he murmured dryly.

***

They’d set up the easels in the kantine with all the artwork on proud display; the minute Frau Kovac and the commandant came in, Hogan nodded to Newkirk, who slipped out behind them nonchalantly. Hogan then beamed at the guests of honor.

“Welcome to our show,” he announced. “A little culture behind the barbed wire, as it were. Sorry I can’t offer you and wine and cheese but with this pesky war on . . . we can start here with Carter . . .”

The easel held a large canvas filled with thick grey squiggles highlighted by lighter white squiggles and a few streaks of charcoal around the edges. Carter smiled as he stood by his work.

“This . . . looks like the inside of a chimney,” Klink observed, not impressed.

Carter’s face fell and he glanced uncertainly at his art. “Really? I guess it kind of does, doesn’t it? Boy that sure wasn’t what I was going for.”

“Well what were you going for? A close-up of fog?” Klink countered with a hint of impatience.

“It’s . . . springtime,” Frau Kovac murmured, and everyone looked at her. She waved a hand at the picture. “End of the snowy season, and it hasn’t quite melted. The air is wet and heavy, the clouds are thick but just under it all the green is waiting to burst forth. Spring, coming to a cold place.”

“North Dakota!” Carter burst out, grinning. “Exactly! Back in Bullfrog, we’d get these days in March when you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face. Or anybody’s face really, and while it looked like you’d never see the sun again, everything was turning from cold to just wet, and yeah, you could smell it in the air. Spring was like, RIGHT about there!”

Hogan tried not to laugh at either Carter’s enthusiasm, or Klink’s surprise. Frau Kovac, though, nodded, her expression sweet.

“I know what you mean,” she nodded. “It’s lovely, thank you.” Turning to Klink, Frau Kovac added, “So you were right, sir—it is fog. Very insightful of you. Let’s see the next one.”

Carter bounced on the balls of his feet and as they walked away he told Hogan, “I _like_ her. She’s an art lover.”

“She’s something,” Hogan agreed, his curiosity piqued. He followed behind Klink as they all approached LeBeau’s canvas.

“Madame,” he murmured, taking her hand and kissing it, to Klink’s annoyance. “Enchanté.”

“Également,” she assured him and gave Klink an apologetic look. “The French have such sentimental temperaments.”

“So it seems,” came the grumble. “All right, let’s have a look at your so-called masterpiece, corporal.”

The canvas was broken into three vertical blocks of color: blue, white and red.

Klink snorted. “This is simply the French flag!”

“Oui!” LeBeau agreed, lifting his chin. “Vive La Belle France!” To Frau Kovac, he added, “This is the most _beautiful_ thing in this room other than yourself.”

“Very patriotic of you,” Frau Kovac told him. “Très loyal.”

“Yes well it’s a good representation,” Klink shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Suppose! This is a _perfect_ re-creation!” LeBeau protested, bristling. “How dare you insult le Tricolore!”

“It’s not an insult,” Frau Kovac interceded. “Not everyone is as familiar with it as you are, not everyone can _appreciate_ it the way you do, oui?”

Grudgingly LeBeau shrugged and when Frau Kovac looked over her shoulder at him when she and the commandant moved on, he gave her an outrageous wink that made her smirk.

**Lorelei**

It has been a sublimely ridiculous afternoon, and despite her best efforts it was hard not to laugh at the art presented to her. Out of all of them, Sergeant Kinchloe’s brooding watercolor of a city park in Detroit had been the piece with the most talent, and by the time she and the colonel had returned to the office she was in a good mood.

That lasted all of three minutes.

Klink had stepped out to discuss some matter with Sergeant Shultz leaving her alone for the moment and Lorelei stood by her desk, a tiny sense of unease flickered through her as she tried to figure out what was out of place.

_Blotter, typewriter, telephone . . ._ she thought, looking around. _File cabinet._

Lorelei touched the handle; the warmth lingering there didn’t surprise her. Willing herself to stay calm, she pulled open the drawer and scanned the folders there. Nothing seemed to be out of place, and she reached for the second drawer, feeling confused now. A quick scan and she was calming down up until she reached the personnel files and noted the ruffled pages on her file.

Panic flared through her and she forced it back, taking a moment to think hard. _Who_? Lorelei wondered, followed by, _ah_. It wasn’t that hard recognize the distraction that had gotten her out of the office and it circled back to Hogan. _He knows,_ she thought, and countered herself. _He doesn’t. He’s suspicious and that’s why he’s snooping._

For the first time in a long time Lorelei considered a darker option. It was brief, and she shook her head. She’d promised Father Gregor she’d never do it again and even though nearly eighty years had passed Lorelei intended to keep her vow. So that meant one choice:

Confrontation.

Not her favorite option, especially with a war on. Especially with _this_ war on, she admitted to herself. Still, clearing the air might at least gain her some time and possibly an ally. She turned away from the filing cabinet and settled in at her desk, pulling out the payroll forms and idly calculating the numbers while another part of her mind tried to figure out a way to have a private conversation with an American colonel.

*** 

There was no moon. Lorelei rode out of the camp as usual, the dim light on the front of her bicycle barely cutting through the darkness. She pedaled on to Hammelburg, rolling in an hour later, gliding to a stop in front of a row of darkened shops facing the town square. Carefully Lorelei walked her bike into an alley and fished out her keys, opening a small side door into one of the buildings. She picked up a bottle that had been left on the step and went in, locking the door behind her.

Inside it was musty and dark, with heavy canvas draped over furniture pieces. Lorelei leaned her bike against a wall, made her way through the showroom and headed to the back, taking the stairs to the basement without bothering with a light: her night vision was excellent. When she reached the small subterranean room she sighed, and uncorked the bottle, sniffing it. Mostly chicken, some beef as well that the butcher had aged. She took a swig and shuddered.

“Here’s to you, Herr Hintzmann. When this war’s over, I hope you return,” she sighed. “If you can.”

Lorelei finished the bottle, stretched out on the lone sofa in the corner, pulled the heavy canvas drape over herself--

and went into Repose.


	3. Chapter 3

**Klink**

He liked her. Possibly more than liked her and while Klink had been in that situation before with women—many women—it generally flickered and died meekly due to lack of encouragement. Oh he tried, but it was difficult to . . . converse with women. He always felt slightly judged and found lacking, which did nothing for his confidence. So he pushed a little too hard and was a little too indecisive and that was generally that. Klink thought back to his one sweet success, Marlene, and while the memory was lovely, the knowledge that she was truly gone always left it bittersweet.

Perhaps it was his career, Klink thought while facing himself in the mirror, shaving. A lifetime in the military, always lagging behind others and feeling as if everyone else knew more than he did. He scowled at his reflection a moment before lifting his chin and scraping it with his razor.

“Half your life gone and what to show for it?” Klink demanded of his reflection. “No family of your own, few friends, and even then most of those are technically the enemy. Face it, Will. You are mediocre at best and a lucky fool the rest of the time.”

His mother’s words, he realized bleakly. Here he was spouting them at himself, just shy of her tone. Klink sighed. “Yes, well I’m still here so far, which is more than I can say for a lot of people. And after the war, who knows? I could . . . retire early. Take up writing my memoirs. Travel.”

Klink snorted at his own foolishness and finished shaving, making it a point to do a thorough job. Nothing like having a ridiculous conversation with his reflection to start the day. At the rate the war was going, he might not get the chance to retire, although admitting that would be treasonous. Better to keep his cynicism to himself and focus on more uplifting thoughts.

Later that morning Klink managed to lose himself in a tangle of transfer notifications, attempting to decipher the smudged ink signatures and noting which forms needed confirmation replies when he heard a soft throat-clearing and looked up at Frau Kovac, who stood at the doorway, waiting for his approval to approach. She looked shy and young; Klink admired her for a moment before murmuring, “Yes?”

“I have found a . . . discrepancy, Oberst Klink,” she replied and glided over to his desk, a sheaf of papers in her hands. “An . . . oversight that needs correction.”

Her words chilled him, and when she reached the desk he rose up, wondering what could possibly be wrong. Klink realized she held the pay docket forms, and he reached for them. “An oversight?” he echoed uncertainly.

“Yes sir. _You_ ,” Frau Kovac told him. “You have been underpaid, sir. And have been for the last twenty-six years.”

“What?” Klink blinked, bringing his gaze up from the columns of numbers to look at the woman beside him.

She gave him a small smile as she pointed to a column. “Your _Pour la Mérite_ entitles you to an annuity which you have not been receiving. I checked with the Luftwaffe accounting offices in Berlin to make sure my figures were correct and they are rectifying the situation even now. All I need is your signature so that they can balance the books.”

“An . . . annuity?” Klink murmured, dim memories coming to mind. He remembered the brief Blau Max ceremony back in 1917, the fatigue and depression as he and the others stood on the rough wood stage at Ypres. He’d had more hair then, he recalled, and a serious case of shell-shock.

“Yes sir.” She recited a figure and added, “multiply that by the years and it amounts to a nice little nest egg that you’ve been entitled to for a while.”

Klink tried to find the words. “Th-thank you!” he murmured, still staring at the pay docket. “I can’t believe it! This is wonderful!”

Frau Kovac smiled at him, cocking her head. “It’s what you deserve.” Her expression shifted slightly, sadness in her dark eyes. After a moment she added, “it was a terrible war. So much destruction, so much grief.”

Klink glanced at her, his mouth pursed. “Yes.” There were still a few nights when his dreams were poisoned by images and memories he’d never shared with anyone. “But you were only a child then, I’m sure.”

Frau Kovac sighed. “I’m . . . older than I look. In any case, if you will simply put your signature here, I can have this couriered to Berlin.”

“Of course, of course,” Klink murmured, hastily signing his name and handing the page back to her. “Thank you so much for your . . . attention to this matter. I’m grateful, Frau Kovac.”

She held his gaze and for a long moment Klink found himself feeling a surge of shy hope rising up, a bewildering rush of emotion that was much stronger than this simple good deed deserved.

Frau Kovac smiled again. “Please call me Lorelei if you wish.”

**Hogan**  
“Lorelei Marie Kovac, nee Luchian,” Hogan murmured, running a finger down the page. “Says here she’s from Lausanne, so you’re on the money, LeBeau.”

LeBeau preened. “I pride myself on my ear.”

“Mostly because the rest of you isn’t worth much,” Newkirk drawled. LeBeau scowled at him but Hogan continued.

“Switzerland . . . they’re neutral. She’d be a lot safer there, so what’s she doing in Germany?”

“It could have something to do with the late Mister Kovac,” Carter offered. “Hey, maybe he was an artist, and that’s why she’s so good at paintings.”

Hogan looked at the papers again. “Possibly. A few addresses in Schweinfurt and Hammelburg; some references; a resume--Kinch, any chance of digging more out of these?”

Kinchloe took the file and nodded. “We can try, but . . .” he hesitated, and Hogan looked at him before he continued, “It ties up communication. I guess what I’m asking colonel--is it worth it?”

Hogan hesitated. Kinchloe was right and more than that it was his _job_ to play Devil’s Advocate whenever he felt the situation warranted it.

“Just a little more,” Hogan finally murmured. “If nothing turns up we’ll let it go, but I’d hate to find out later something was hinky and we didn’t spot it.”

Kinch gave a nod and gave the folder a shake. “We’ll need to get these back,” he reminded Hogan, who nodded.

“I’ll think of something. Maybe it’s time to suggest the offices get fumigated.”

“Well we certainly know of a few bugs,” LeBeau pointed out cheekily.

“And at least one cockroach,” Newkirk added, ducking the swat the Frenchman aimed his way.

Hogan smirked at that and stepped out, considering what his next move should be. They were still waiting on mission details and everyone was bored—enough so to start sniping at each other, which wasn’t a terrible thing but if it went on much longer Hogan knew it would start getting personal. 

The sun had begun to set, smudging the wet snowdrifts around the camp with gold, and Hogan watched as Frau Kovac came out from Klink’s office, pulling on her gloves. Normally she headed straight for the striped guard shack, but today as she came down the steps, she looked at him and caught his glance.

“Colonel, if you would be so kind . . .” she murmured, gesturing to him. 

Surprised, Hogan sauntered over, his expression mild. “So kind?” he asked.

“One of my tires is flat and I’m sure you can handle a pump,” she replied, adding, “please.”

“At your service,” Hogan assured her, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking alongside her to the guard shack. Once she’d retrieved the bike and he’d borrowed a pump from the guard, they stepped a few feet away and Hogan squatted to unscrew the valve cap.

“There is a file missing from my office,” Frau Kovac murmured, bending over across the bike. “Do you know anything about that?”

Nonplussed, Hogan kept his gaze on the work at hand, attaching the pump to the tire valve. “Tricky question. If I say ‘yes’ all sorts of bad things could happen to me, and I’m very fond of breathing. I’d better say ‘no’.”

“Your pulse jumped and you’re holding your breath,” Frau Kovac replied dryly. “Just . . . put it back as soon as possible, please.”

This time Hogan did look up at her, his expression intense. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. Look, Colonel, I don’t know what you’re looking for but I assure you I’m not your enemy. I’m nobody’s enemy. All I want is to work and be left in peace until this stupid war is over and go home.”

“To Switzerland,” Hogan sniped, waiting to see if she would rise to the bait.

“Not yet,” Frau Kovac sighed. “Maybe in another seventy years’ time. For now I’d be happy just to have Herr Hintzmann come back.”

Hogan rose and worked the pump, putting his frustration into it and filling the tire within a minute. “Nothing you’ve just said makes _any_ sense to me and I prefer things to make sense. On paper you’re just another civilian but I don’t think that’s the whole story, is it?”

She blinked at him, and in the last of the sunset her eyes looked red for a moment. “The whole story . . . that would take most of the night.”

“I’d settle for the abridged version,” Hogan assured her, and once again found himself slightly unsettled when she nodded. 

“Very well then. If you take a little stroll near the kennels at midnight we’ll see if you like what I have to tell you. Thank you for the help.”

He watched her settle onto the seat and pedal away past the guard shack as Kinchloe wandered out to stand beside him. “What was that all about?”

“Oh nothing, I just have a date tonight,” Hogan told him. “Although it’s probably past my curfew.”

“Hope it’s worth it, colonel,” Kinch grinned wryly. "Hope it's worth it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Lorelei**

The dogs were cowed of course; she had enough mesmer to keep them submissive and quiet as she poured herself through the fence and floated to the far side of the kennel master’s office. The night was slightly foggy, which helped, and Lorelei gave herself a moment to hover in the shadows before solidifying. 

She shook her hair loose, letting it cascade down to cover herself and sighed. Nudity was the one factor none of the legends had ever gotten right, and although she didn’t feel the cold, it was still embarrassing. _Capes,_ Lorelei thought with a mental sigh. _No wonder they were popular with my kind._

Hogan was approaching; she sensed him before he turned the corner and looked towards the kennels. For a moment they stared at each other, and then Hogan worked his way along the side of the barrack, giving the water tower a wide berth until he reached her, his gaze bemused.

“Nice outfit,” came his stunned whisper. “Are you _insane_?”

“Sometimes I wonder myself,” she replied tartly. “Believe me if I could have dressed for the occasion I would have, but clothes don’t stay on when I . . . shift.”

He was still staring, and Lorelei felt her anger flare. She reached up to catch his chin, bringing his gaze back to her eyes. “Pay attention!”

“Oh I _am_ , believe me,” Hogan replied, but he focused on her face, his expression serious.

Lorelei took a breath. “Do you know what I am?”

He pursed his mouth. “Going on a guess--not human.”

“Correct. I’m one of the _unsterblich_.”

Hogan nodded. “Bingo. _Now_ a few things make sense. Which kind?”

Lorelei gave him an open-lipped smile, flashing her dainty fangs at him. He flinched but didn’t step back, which impressed her; not many people had that kind of self-control.

“When you said your story would take most of the night you weren’t kidding,” Hogan finally muttered. “Vampire. Damn. I haven’t met one of you in _years_.”

“Not many in America,” Lorelei agreed. “And now, not as many in Europe either, thanks to that monster and his henchmen in Berlin.”

She watched Hogan nod before he spoke. “So what the hell are you doing _here_? Your file says you’re originally from Switzerland which to my way of thinking is where you ought to be instead of filling out paperwork here in Nazi central.”

“I made a promise,” Lorelei sighed, leaning back against the wall. “And as long as I am able to keep it, I will.”

She watched Hogan consider that a moment before he shifted to lean his own frame against the wall as well. “There’s a war on,” he pointed out. “It’s a good excuse to get out of that, you know.”

Lorelei gave him a sidelong glance. “I’ve been through a number of them already, Colonel; I’m fairly _good_ at surviving. At the moment I have sanctuary, a source of nourishment, and a job. Those are all I need to get through this war.”

Hogan snorted. “You could lose any _one_ of those on any given night and we both know it. A bombing, a raid by the Gestapo and poof! All gone, Lorelei. Are you sure this promise of yours is worth it? Because I know what will happen to you if you get caught.” His expression grew haggard for a moment. “I’ve seen it happen enough to people who _aren’t_ supernatural.”

She didn’t doubt him; he had the look of a man who had made hard decisions.

“I’m sure you have,” Lorelei agreed. “But I have to keep this one . . . Robert. So now that you know what I am, I need to know I can trust you to keep my secret.”

His pulse was steady but Lorelei could sense his tension. Hogan scowled. “Looks like I’m going to have to,” he sighed harshly. “Who else knows?”

“The town butcher,” Lorelei replied. “His son and daughter too. There may be a few other neighbors and acquaintances who suspect but they haven’t said anything.”

“How long have you been in Hammelburg?” 

Lorelei thought back for a moment, mentally counting back. “Fifteen years now, give or take a few. I remember when this camp was first built. A school once stood here.”

“Huh,” was all Hogan replied. Neither of them said anything for a moment and in the quiet Lorelei heard the heavy footsteps of Sergeant Schultz on patrol. They both waited until he lumbered his way off towards the other side of camp before she spoke again.

“I can’t force you to keep this a secret but I can tell you that not all your men will be able to deal with it,” she murmured to Hogan. “LeBeau and Newkirk are European--they’ll understand a bit better than your American compatriots.”

Hogan nodded. “Yeah, LeBeau will probably be the first to offer you his neck; go easy on him, he’s only appetizer-sized.”

Lorelei snickered. “The offer is kind but no. I’m avoiding necks these days, along with everything else.”

“What about Klink?” Hogan asked.

Lorelei hesitated before answering. “He’s harmless, yes?”

“He’s getting a crush on you,” Hogan responded sharply. “And while I can work with that, we need to keep him here. I’m not up to breaking in a new Kommandant anytime soon.”

“Harmless,” Lorelei repeated. “He’s lonely and I . . . understand how that feels.”

Someone hooted like an owl; Lorelei smirked. “I think our time is up. Can I trust you, Colonel Hogan?”

Slowly Hogan nodded. He glanced in every direction before looking back at her. “Looks like I’m going to have to trust you too, Frau Kovac.”

Lorelei held his gaze and let herself dissolve into smoke, gratified at his bemused expression.

**Hogan**

“She’s a _what_?” Carter burst out, clapping his mittens over his mouth and dropping his voice to a whisper. “You’re _kidding_ , right colonel?”

“Nope,” Hogan replied, remembering her disappearing act of the night before.

“It fits,” LeBeau nodded sagely. “The gloves, the paleness. But she must be old, mon colonel, to be able to tolerate sunlight.”

“You’re not . . . afraid of her?” Carter demanded incredulously.

LeBeau rolled his eyes. “Why should I be?”

Newkirk shook his head. “Yanks. Look, has the good Frau ever threatened you, Carter? Has she started peppering your collar, mate?”

“No,” Carter mumbled. Hogan felt sorry for him but understood. Not a lot of vampires chose the Midwest.

“There you go. She’s got some private source for her tipple and it ain’t you, so just treat her like a lady and you’ll be all right. Fangers might be a little different from us but not enough to matter. Had a landlord who was one ages back and he was a good bloke.”

LeBeau gave a nod. “My aunt dated one but they couldn’t make it work.”

“Different diets?” Carter guessed timidly.

“Mostly it was because Tante Janelle was already married,” LeBeau admitted. “We LeBeaus have an excess of passion. It’s a French thing.”

“The point is that while she’s . . . different, she’s definitely on our side,” Hogan murmured. “Which is still to our advantage.”

“Man,” Kinchloe gave a shake of his head. “I don’t know about a vampire being in Klink’s front office, though.”

“Well you can’t tell just by looking at her,” Carter pointed out. “I mean _I_ didn’t know.”

“True,” Hogan admitted. “She slipped under our radar but then again she’s been doing this a while. Look, for the time being we roll with it.”

“Colonel, do we pass the word along?” Kinch asked. “To London?”

Hogan hesitated. “Let’s keep it under our hats for now,” he sighed. “It’s _her_ business, not ours.”

Everyone nodded but Kinchloe, who took a deep breath. “Colonel? You realize if word ever gets out, Frau Kovac’s gonna be in a Gestapo car headed to Poland faster than you can say ‘medical experiment,’ right?”

“I do. So does she,” Hogan replied grimly. “But we all need someone in that office that we can trust, and she’s already in place. For the moment, we keep it that way.”

The matter settled, Hogan strolled out into the overcast day, considering the information they’d all just received for their next assignment. On the surface, the simple courier job of moving a trunk full of scientific research looked to be a piece of cake, but Hogan suspected their might be more to it, especially since nobody was travelling with the trunk. He’d tried getting more intel but none was forthcoming from London aside from the assurance that the entire matter was urgent.

So now it was a matter of getting more than one trunk into the camp, and that meant a possible theatric production . . . still musing over the matter, Hogan fell into step along with Schultz, who gave a little grunt of welcome. 

“Ever see a cabaret?”

Schultz rolled his eyes appreciatively. “Colonel Hogan, _please_! Do you think I’m the sort of man who would spend an evening drinking schnapps and watching young frauleins prancing around in nearly nothing?”

“Yes,” Hogan told him, amused at how the older man’s ears went red.

“Pffft, yes well what man _wouldn’t,_ given the chance,” Schultz sighed. “ _Those_ were the days.”

“I bet,” Hogan grinned. Teasing Schultz was fun, mostly because while he’d bluster a lot of the time, every now and then he gave back as good as he got. As Germans went, Schultz was harmless. “Maybe we could stage one here. You know, just for fun.”

Schultz gave a snort. “Un-less you are planning a drrrrrag show, I doubt it will work. Mädchen are the whole point.”

“Along with the booze,” Hogan agreed.

“Ja,” Schultz sighed. “Drinks unt damen. Now I am depressed, Colonel.”

“But I haven’t even mentioned my idea,” Hogan pressed, feeling mischievous. “You’ll love it!”

This was his forte and he relished it. Hogan loved working on the fly; loved figuring out how to play the con in just the right way to get the job done and have a good time doing it. Luck was a part of it, but much more rested on knowing human nature. 

“I am not listening,” Schultz informed him. “Not a word. Will there be schnapps?”

“Does Dusseldorf have _altbier_? Trust me Schultz, I have a plan.”

“ _Now_ I’m worried.”


End file.
